


Pros and Cons Season 1

by aldente



Series: Pros & Cons [1]
Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan, White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternative Universe - FBI, Bellarke, F/F, F/M, Like Really Hella Slow, Past Clexa - Freeform, Past Flarke, Past Relationship(s), Slow Burn, White Collar Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-02-23 09:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13187010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldente/pseuds/aldente
Summary: An unlikely partnership between charming con artist Clarke Griffin and FBI agent Bellamy Blake forms after a series of escapes and arrests. A lingering distrust always seems to cloud their situational relationship, but maybe it's all for good reason?---White Collar / The 100 Crossover AUyes, it's the White Collar plot with The 100 charactersyes, I needed thisyes, you'll love it





	1. Parchment I

**Author's Note:**

> I'm super excited to be writing this! I absolutely love crime shows and I love how light and funny White Collar is. So, I decided to share it with you guys through characters from The 100! I'll be posting a chapter every two weeks and every four chapters will be the equivalent of one "episode". 56 chapters will complete the whole of season one, and if enough people enjoy this first chunk, I'll continue it! Please give me feedback, positive or negative, and be sure to enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy reunite after 3 years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is low-key one of my least favorite chapters I've written, so just give it some time... I'll be posting the next one in two weeks!

**_Mount Weather Maximum Security Prison_ **

Clarke Griffin is a woman of many talents. Counterfeiting, securities fraud, art theft, racketeering, etc. only ever being convicted of bond forgery. So she’ll be damned if she adds anything else to her list. A cut and dried escape should do the trick. Just about a month of preparation and she’ll be out of here.

**_Mount Weather Maximum Security Prison - One Month Later_ **

And with one fell swoop her much too overgrown bangs are gone, leaving Clarke feeling more naked than she has felt in a little more than a month. The rest of her wavy, blonde hair is now cut just south of her shoulders. Pulling a package from behind the toilet, Clarke quickly changes her prison-issued orange jumpsuit for an equally heinous guard uniform.

The shift bell rings and she’s up and out of the Staff Only bathroom, brandishing her new  _ (someone else’s not so new) _ badge. Walking through the supermax makes for easier escape than expected, so she relishes in the thought of booking it back to her apartment and painting a nice Van Gogh. Her mind slips back to the task at hand when she reaches a door requiring an ID badge.  _ Thank you, Stacey Graham. Whoever you are. _

An officer waits for her on the opposite side of the door, surveying her. She smiles and he looks pleased as he lets her pass. And just like that, she’s free again with one destination in mind and only one planned route to get there. That leaves Clarke Griffin with only one other thing to do: get on with it.

_ *** _

She quickly hotwires a rickety old truck from the parking lot of the prison and laughs when she hears the familiar sound of the truck’s engine starting up. On the road, she pops in a cassette tape,  _ Hold On! I’m Coming _ blaring through the vehicle's speakers. She fishes three dollars out from the ash tray and continues down the road until she reaches a sidewalk shop on some road just east of Manhattan, near Queens. Clarke spots a yellow windbreaker on one of the jacket racks and puts it on in front of one of the mirrors.

The man selling the jackets approaches her and asks her about her day.

“Only five bucks, girlie,” the man barters.

“I’ll give you three,” Clarke says wearing a shit-eating grin, just because she can.

**_John F. Kennedy International Airport_ **

Clarke fits in with all the other airport employees wearing identical yellow windbreakers. Some old rich man with a Mercedes drives up near the airport and Clarke takes her shot. Jogging over, she shouts to him and he passes her a hundred dollar bill as he gets the last of his luggage out of the trunk.

“Take good care of her, I’ll be back in a month.”

“Thank you, Sir!”

And that’s all Clarke manages before she pulls the car away from the curb, leaves the airport and heads toward the city.

**_Polis Preferred Bank NYC_ **

At least a dozen FBI agents are in the lobby enjoying their easy field job for the day, but Bellamy Blake is impatient. They’ve been waiting for the technician forever and the longer it takes, the more antsy Bellamy becomes.

Inside the vault, the technician presses his ear against the vault and hears the lock turning as he tries to find the proper combination with the relative entirety of the FBI’s sound equipment.

“Drop three.”

In the other room, Bellamy releases a heavy breath and runs his hand through his dark brown curls.  _ This is taking too long. _

“Drop two and drop four,” notes the technician. “All pins down, preparing to open.”

Bellamy gets giddy with the thought that this is almost over, when he repeats the sequence to himself.  _ Something isn’t right.  _ Grumbling, he keeps running the numbers through his head trying to recognize the order when―

“Wait!”

But it was too late. The vault exploded, filling the room with smoke, dust and reflective, red fibers. Most of the agents double over in coughing fits while Bellamy runs into the vault, helping the technician exit.

“Are you okay?” Bellamy says to the technician, genuinely worried.

“What happened?”

“I said wait and you didn’t wait! Ugh, ten thousand man hours to get this close to the Dutchman and you blow up my evidence.”

A question comes from one of the other agents in the room: Nathan Miller.

“Agent Blake, how did you know it was going to do that?”

Dusting himself off, Bellamy answers.

“Three, two, four. Look at your phones, what does that spell?”

As everyone looks to their smartphones, Miller pipes up again.

“Oh, FBI.”

“Yeah, FBI,” Bellamy sighs, exasperated.

“Apparently he knew we were coming.”

“You think so, Copernicus? Somebody wanna―” picking up one of the red fibers, Bellamy continues. “Wanna tell me what this stuff is? Huh?”

When nobody answers, he gets even more annoyed.  _ Like I need this today. _

“Anybody? Nobody knows what this is? Great. Look at you. How many of you went to Harvard?”

After most of the agents raise their hands, Bellamy finishes his pointless conversation.

“Don’t―don’t raise your hands. Just don’t.”

Walking away from the scene, Bellamy sees his probationary officer Raven Reyes making her way through the still dumbfounded agents. 

“Raven! Look at this mess, apparently our guy has a sense of humor,” Bellamy attempts a joke, but Raven’s demeanour remains grim. 

“What is it, Raven?”

Very quietly, she tells him the last thing he wants to hear. 

“Clarke Griffin escaped.”

And for some reason, he can’t help but be intrigued.

_ *** _

Raven walks her boss down a hallway and hands him a file.

“What’s this?” Bellamy asks.

“The U.S. Marshals are requesting your help.”

“My help?”

“The director asked for you personally.”

“Me? Why would he want me?” Bellamy inquires, still confused.

Finally, Raven answers. “Probably because you’re the only one who ever caught her. You’re not in white collar crime for nothing, Blake.”

**_Mount Weather Maximum Security Prison_ **

“Agent Blake, I’m the director at the U.S. Marshals facility. We appreciate the help. You were the case agent?”

_ Straight to the point, I guess all the Marshal guys are like that. _ Bellamy answers just as straightforward, “Yes, I was.”

“So you’ll agree this is an... unusual situation.”

“Why would Clarke run with three months left on a four year sentence?”

“Well, that’s what we’re wondering.” 

Another man walks into the room, introduced as Warden Mbege. Immediately, Bellamy knows that he is one of the men responsible for Clarke Griffin’s escape.

“You’re the guy who dropped the ball, huh?” Bellamy accuses the warden. 

“Don’t go pointing fingers, you of all people should know what Griffin’s capable of.”

“I know that I spent three years of my life chasing her, and you let her walk right out the front door.” Unsurprisingly, the director seems to have had enough of their bickering and intercedes.

“Gentlemen, might I remind you that Griffin has a four hour head start?”

With that, Bellamy and Warden Mbege follow the director further into the prison. Bellamy more and more amused by the people tasked to watch over  _ the  _ Clarke Griffin. When the men start walking along a cell block, Bellamy starts grilling the other two men.

“Griffin came out of the E-block staff bathroom dressed as a guard. Where did she get the uniform?”

The director answers this one. “Uniform supply company on the internet.”

“She used a credit card?”

At the look the director gives Mbege, Bellamy infers his answer but let’s him answer.

“She, uh, used my wife’s American Express.”

“We’re tracking the number in case she uses it again.”

Bellamy knows that Clarke never doubles back. “She won’t.”

At this point, the three men have arrived at Clarke Griffin’s cell and Bellamy is surprised to say the least. She has paintings on her wall, most of them copies of famous artists but still immensely impressive. Piles of books from a group of Edgar Allan Poe stories to A Tale of Two Cities sit atop her bed. Bellamy walks into the cell and runs a hand over a wall full of tally marks in various colors.

“How did she get the key cards for the gate?”

“Well, we think she restriped a utility card using the record head on that,” the director notes as he motions toward a cassette player sitting atop a desk in the corner of the cell. Bellamy ejects a cassette and flips it over and over in his hands.

“Should’ve given her a CD player.” Bellamy sits on Clarke’s bed and picks up a book which ends up being a truck maintenance manual. Another book has a flyer sticking out of it like a bookmark. The flyer’s title, Executive Services Airport Parking is accompanied by a picture with employees in yellow windbreakers.

The director begins to explain what Bellamy already knows. “She walked out the door and hotwired a maintenance truck in the parking lot. We found it abandoned near the airport.” Mbege picks up where the director leaves off.

“We beefed up security just in case she tries to get out that way.”

_ This warden actually thinks she’s stupid enough to do that…  _ “Well, we’re not going to catch Griffin by using roadblocks and wanted posters.” The agent leans over a broken mirror and picks up what looks to be a pair of haphazardly-made scissors.

The director answers his unasked question. “She cut off her bangs just before she escaped.”

“But Clarke doesn’t have bangs.”

_ *** _

Sitting around a small computer, the three men watch and rewatch security camera footage of Clarke with her usually slick hair, cut unevenly into ragged bangs.

Mbege opens his mouth and again, provides relatively useless information. “The inmates are photographed each morning as they exit their cells.”

Bellamy’s brain finally catches up with the image in front of him. “I hardly recognize her.”

“I think that’s the point.”

Pointing to the computer screen, Agent Blake continues. “Was this taken this morning?”

When the warden nods, Bellamy instructs him to run the series back. The video rewinds day by day and slowly, Clarke’s bangs become shorter and shorter. That is until Bellamy stops the video on an image of a well-styled, confident Clarke Griffin. 

“That’s it, when she first cut her hair. I want to know everything that happened that day.”

_ *** _

After sifting through files and papers and even more files, Bellamy comes across a log book of visitations. He runs his index finger down the pages and finds Clarke’s name next to the name Finn Collins. 

“She had a visitor,” Bellamy declared, slamming the book in front of the director and running his hand through his hair, a nervous tick he acquired while working on Clarke’s case three years ago.

“Finn Collins. You know him?” the director asks.

“Unfortunately... I do.”

_ *** _

Moments later, the three men have resumed their positions huddling around a computer screen, watching as Clarke sits on one side of a glass partition while Finn does the same on the other. Even without audio, the two are clearly arguing about something. The director, now with the logbook makes an observation.

“He comes back every week like clockwork.”

Bellamy, still peering intently at the video notices that Finn stands up, still arguing with Clarke. She touches the glass, putting her hands on the visibly cool surface, reaching out to him. The director asks the warden about how soon they can get a lip reader to analyze the footage. Bellamy saves them the trouble.

Quoting Finn, “‘Adios, Clarke. You’ve made your mark.’” Clarke’s face is reflected in the glass partition, clearly pleading with Finn.

“Did he show up the next week after that?”

“Nope,” the director answers, popping the ‘p’. “He never came back.”

“Alright then. Let’s find Finn.”

As the warden and the director leave the room, Bellamy glances back and sees Clarke continually imploring Finn, even as he walks away. Even after he has left the room for five minutes.

**_Finn Collins’ Apartment_ **

Three additional police cars pull up to the complex before Bellamy stalks off to Finn’s apartment. 

Once he enters the building, Bellamy sees a disheveled, upset Clarke sitting at the end of a blank hallway in an even bleaker loft. The walls are white and undecorated, the space completely emptied.  _ Looks like Finn had time to move out. _ Clarke, still wearing her prison issued white t-shirt and a security guard’s pants, rolls an empty bottle of wine from hand to hand. She heaves a heavy sigh and sets the bottle down, as if waiting for Bellamy to say something.  _ She noticed me walk in? _

“I heard the sirens almost 5 minutes ago.”

Clarke’s raspy voice startles him for no more than a millisecond, at least that’s all Bellamy will ever admit to.

“I see Finn moved out,” he says cheekily. Clarke just looks up and sighs again, her piercing blue eyes startling Bellamy.  _ Damn, that’s twice. _

“He leave you a message in that?” he continues more sympathetically, motioning toward the bottle that is now standing up next to Clarke.

“The bottle is a message… it has to be.”

Now, it’s Bellamy’s turn to sigh. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, few years, give or take. Not like I’ve been counting or anything.”

A small laugh bubbles up out of Bellamy. “You carrying?”

“You know I don’t like guns.”

“They asked me, what makes someone like you pull a boneheaded escape with four months to go?”

“Guess you figured it out.”

“Let’s see… Finn says adios to you in prison and gets busy with his disappearing act. The trail ends here, but you already know that.”

“Missed him by two days.”

“Still. It only took you a month and a half to escape a supermax? That’s damn impressive, Griffin.”

Clarke manages a small laugh that surprises her. Her slight happiness is short-lived however. Bellamy’s radio buzzes to life. “Subject identified and unarmed.” Somewhere on the other end of the walkie-talkie a voice answers the agent, “Roger that.”

“We surrounded?”

Bellamy nods so Clarke continues to prod him for what little time she has left.

“How many?”

“Including my agents, whatever NYPD officers were called and the Marshals? All of them, I think.”

Another smile pulls at the corner of Clarke’s mouth, but it doesn’t get very far.

“What’s the message?” Bellamy asks, picking up the bottle of Bordeaux still next to Clarke.

“Goodbye.”

Making a short tsk noise, Bellamy sets down the bottle. “Men.”

“You’re telling me,” Clarke replies sarcastically.

“They’re going to give you another four years for this, you know.”

Despondently, Clarke says what she’s been thinking since she saw Finn’s empty apartment. “I don’t care.”

Bellamy gives Clarke what looks like a sympathetic glance before he rights himself and replaces his expression with a curtain of indifference. Looking at Bellamy, Clarke chuckles a bit to herself, places her hands on the ground on either side of her legs and hoists herself up. “That’s the same suit you were wearing the last time you arrested me.”

“Classics never go out of style,” Bellamy says as he shrugs.

Clarke suddenly narrows her eyes which Bellamy catches. Slowly, so that the agent can see that she isn’t trying anything, Clarke reaches out to his shoulder and plucks a thin, red fiber off of Bellamy’s jacket.

“Do you have any clue what this is?” Clarke implores, slightly impressed with herself.

Bellamy laughs, “No idea. Must have taken it with me from a case I was supposed to be working on before they yanked me off to find you.”

Somewhere towards the bottom of the building, men are shuffling around. The sound travels up to the pair and Clarke gets a bit spooked. “Think you have a shot at catching him?” 

“Not sure… he’s good. Maybe as good as you.”

After a small snort of derision, “What’s it worth if I tell you what this is? Is it worth a meeting?”

“What are you talking aboutー”

“If I tell you what this is, right now, will you agree to meet me back in prison in one week?”

Bellamy begins to mull it over but the men are even louder now. Closer.

“Just a meeting, Bellamy.”

Shouts from just outside the hallway make it to Clarke, “Hallway clear!” and “You two, get moving!” are enough to tell her that she has just run out of time.

“It’s a security fiber for the new Canadian hundred dollar bill.” Clarke hands the fiber back to Bellamy just as three armed men burst into the room and begin to handcuff Clarke. She and Bellamy make eye contact one last time and she drives her point home.

“One week.”


	2. Parchment II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy meets Clarke in prison and makes a choice that could change her way of life forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo, chapter 2 is up! The next one should be published in another two weeks. Leave me comments and let me know what you think and what I can improve on!

**_FBI White Collar Division NYC_ **

Walking around the office, Bellamy notices how on edge most of the ‘higher ups’ are. Just in time, he turns a corner and suddenly Raven is shoving files into his hands.

“Hey. What’s got the belt and suspender boys all riled up?”

“You,” Raven’s answer is as simple as it gets.

“Me? What did I do?” Bellamy says, feigning innocence.

“Oh, drop the act already. Griffin was right, that stuff from the bank vault? Security fibers for the new Canadian hundred.”

“I’ll be damned,” Bellamy lets out a breath and tugs on his suit.

“Yeah, we all will. Apparently, the formulation is still classified. The Canadian Secret Service are very keen on knowing how you figured it out.”

“This should be fun.”

“You may have just started an international incident,” Raven huffs a laugh and stalks off, leaving him in the middle of the hallway.

 

**_Mount Weather Maximum Security Prison_ **

“How did you know?” Bellamy asks Clarke, sitting across from her in an interrogation room. It still surprises Bellamy whenever he sees Clarke in prison orange with handcuffs on.  _ Not quite the right outfit for a princess. _ A guard mindlessly stands to the side of the table near the door.  _ Beefed up security after her escape. They’re foolish to think a few guards would stop her. _

“Come on, Bellamy. It’s what I do,” a sly smile tugs at the corner of Clarke’s mouth. “How upset were the Canadians?”

“Oh, very,” Bellamy’s laugh continues into his next sentence. “Well, as upset as Canadians can get. So… I agreed to a meeting. We’re meeting.”

“Observant and handsome, how has no one snagged you up yet?” Clarke muses as she leans closer to the agent standing across from her.

“Butt kissing won’t get you out of this, Griffin. So, spit it out. Unless you feel like planning another escape to get my attention.”

After a few seconds of silence, Clarke relents. “I know why you call him the Dutchman.”

Genuinely surprised that Clarke even knows of the Dutchman’s existence, Bellamy motions for her to continue.

“Like the ghost ship, he disappears whenever you get close.”

“How do you even know anything about him?”

“You know my life, you don’t think I know yours? Did you get the birthday cards?”

Bellamy’s mind flits back to the day he got his first one in the mail. A cupcake adorned with handcuffs on the front and  _ One of the many downsides of a government job: you can’t lie about your age. Happy Birthday, Agent Blake  _ inscribed in the center.

“Nice touch,” he huffs.

“You’ve been after the Dutchman almost as long as you were after me. So, I’ll help you catch him.”

Again, Bellamy laughs. “Really? How does that work, huh? Do you want us to be prison pen pals?”

Instead of answering, Clarke opens a folder that is sitting on the table in front of her and pulls out a stack of papers. Bellamy finally sits down across from Clarke and skims the papers while she talks. “You can get me out of here, Bellamy. There’s case law, precedent. I can be released into your custodyー”

“Nice. This is very nice, Clarke. But you’re right,” Bellamy sounds almost disappointed. “I do know you, and I know the second you’re out, you’ll take off after Finn.”

Earnestly, Clarke struggles to stand her ground for the first time in a long time. “Bellamy, I am not going to run.”

Bellamy gives her a look, as if saying  _ yeah, right  _ in the most sarcastic way possible. Nevertheless she continues, sliding another piece of paper in Bellamy’s direction. “There are GPS tracking anklets, even bracelets now. The new ones are tamper proof, they’ve never been skipped on.”

“There’s always a first time,” Bellamy shakes his head, making up his mind.

“Think about it, Bellamy.”

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” and to his credit, Bellamy has enough decency to look apologetic. He stands up, walks over to Clarke and puts a hand on her left shoulder.

“Nice try,” is all he says before he exits the room, leaving Clarke, the guard and a stack of papers detailing a contract that will never be signed. She watches him leave, knowing full well that she just let her ticket out of prison walk right out the door.

 

_ *** _

Later that night, Clarke just can’t sleep. Thinking about too much has drained the sleepiness out of her. She hears footfalls coming down her cellblock so she quickly peers out, past the grate and notices all the other cells are dark, meanwhile hers is aglow with the small light bulb she has hanging from her ceiling. She also notices that the guard walking down the hallway is one of her favorites. 

Bobby is a sweet man. He’s a chubby, African American guy that always seems just a bit too loving to work in a supermax.  _ Like Agent Blake, except the complete opposite. Never judge a book by it's cover, I guess. _

When Bobby makes it to Clarke’s cell, she has returned back to her position on her uncomfortable bed as he tells her that she needs to turn her light off.

She pleads with him for a bit, knowing that she has one more thing to do before she can truly go to sleep.

The policeman grants her a few minutes and bids her a goodnight before leaving Clarke with her thoughts. Bobby’s heavy footfalls recede deeper into the prison as Clarke sits up on her bed. Her eyes move along the wall riddled with tally marks. Clarke stands up, grabs a piece of charcoal and quickly adds another mark.

She stands there for a minute. A full minute, thinking about how much she royally screwed up. About how much she missed Finn. About how long she’ll be stuck in her cell. About the last glance Agent Blake gave her before condemning Clarke to another x amount of years in a prison she can’t help but think she shouldn’t be in.

Finally, she raises her arm and swipes through all the tallies violently, making marks on the wall over and over again. Somehow, she smashes her hand into the light bulb hanging down from the ceiling, the sound of the glass shattering ripples through the cell block.

With the string that held the light bulb swinging back and forth, Clarke turns away from the tally wall and sighs. She runs her fingers through her freshly cut hair and sighs again, trying to grasp for straws in what her bleak future could hold for her now.  _ But Clarke Griffin doesn’t give up, none of the Griffins do. _

Clarke makes a new tally mark on the clean wall she faces. A new mark; the start of her second four-year imprisonment. She hangs her head with the weight of her previous decisions pushing down on her and lays on the bed, trying to get a few hours of well deserved rest before she has to wake up in a nightmare the next morning, and the morning after that and the next. Every morning for four years.

 

**_The Blake Residence_ **

Around the same time, Bellamy sits at his living room table, the majority of it covered in papers, case files and even one of the many birthday cards Clarke has sent him over the years.

His sister, Octavia, comes down the stairs and makes her way slowly into the living room. Already in her pajamas, she grabs a cold cup of coffee that was sitting out on the granite kitchen counter and takes a sip before acknowledging her older brother.

“Are you ever going to go to bed tonight?”

“Yeah,” is his only response before he immerses himself back into his paperwork.

Octavia makes her way to the table and sits down across from Bellamy.

“What’s wrong, big brother?” she asks, genuine worry streaked across her face.

Yet another one word answer makes its way out of Bellamy’s mouth. “Nothing.” Looking down at the papers, Octavia realizes something.

“Oh, don’t tell me it’s Clarke Griffin! I’ve been competing with her for three years.”

Slowly, Bellamy begins to let Octavia in.

“She’d be out today.”

“You’re considering her offer?”

Bellamy just shrugs, so Octavia continues.

“Well, of course you are or you’d be in bed like every other person would be at this hour.”

Bellamy shakes his head, ruffling his already ruffled curls and grabs Octavia’s coffee mug which she quickly steals back.

“Can she help you catch that other guy you’re going after?”

“I think so. Clarke’s smart, and you know how much I like smart.”

“Is she as smart as those Ivy League co-eds they throw at you?” Octavia asks laughingly.

“She’s almost as brilliant as the sister I’m stuck with,” Bellamy replies, his witty bravado shining through his rough exterior, even if only for a moment.

“Ooh, good answer. So, what’s the problem with having Clarke work on the case?”

“It’s justーthis is not the way it’s supposed to go. You get caught, you do your time. There’s more to this, more to this than some lost love. There’s some side angle she’s playing that I just don’t see yet.”

“Hold on a minute… you’re suggesting Clarke escapes a maximum security prison, knowing full well that you’d catch her, just so she can trick you into letting her out again?”

As Octavia says this, Bellamy begins to doubt himself further.  _ It really doesn’t make sense, does it? _ Of course it makes sense, this  _ is _ Clarke Griffin they’re talking about here, but there’s still a small seed of doubt stuck in his head.

“Well… it’s a working theory.”

Standing up, Octavia leaves her mug and pats Bellamy’s shoulder.

“Yeah, keep working Bell.” As she says this, Bellamy lets out a laugh and Octavia joins him.

“Is it really that hard for you to believe a woman would do that for the man she loves?” Octavia sobers the conversation.

“Clarke just bought herself four more years in prison. For what?”

“For what? I know it’s different between us Bell but you still love me…” Bellamy nods along. “If you were Clarke, wouldn’t you have run for me?”

Bellamy opens and closes his mouth but no sound makes it’s way past his lips. He knows he should say something but Octavia knows his answer without him having to tell her. He’d run for her even if he didn’t have two feet to carry him.

 

**_Mount Weather Maximum Security Prison_ **

The gate opens, Clarke steps out and it shuts closed with a loud, resounding click.

“Let me see it,” are Agent Blake’s first words to her since their conversation in the interrogation room. Knowing exactly what he means, Clarke lifts her pant leg, revealing one of the most high tech and ugly ankle trackers she has ever seen. Satisfied, Bellamy continues.

“You understand how this works, right?”

“I’m being released into the custody of the FBI, under your supervision, and this thing  _ really  _ chaffs my leg. Did I miss anything?” Clarke finishes with a sly smile.

“Yeah, if you run and I catch you, which you know I will since I’m 2 and 0 now… you’re not back here for four years, you’re back here for good.”

Sensing the tone of the conversation, Clarke reels in her witty retort and nods instead.

“You are going to be tempted to look for Finn. So, I’m giving you the best advice I can… don’t.”

“I told you: the bottle… it meant goodbye.”

“Great. Then leave it at that. Right now, this deal is a temporary situation. Help me catch the Dutchman, and we can make it permanent.”

At this point, Bellamy finally starts walking away from the prison.

“Wait, where are we going?”

“Your new home.”

 

**_The Eiffel Motel (We Serve Shitty Breakfast Too!)_ **

The minute the pair walk into the motel, if you could even call it that… a very distinct expression makes its way onto Clarke’s face. The motel, riddled with flies and trash is dingy and Clarke immediately knows she needs to get out of there. Some woman winks at Clarke from where she’s standing in the corner. Or maybe she’s winking at Bellamy… The agent’s expression is the complete opposite of Clarke’s. His normally emotionless face is adorned with a huge grin and right away, Clarke knows that he just wants to stick it to her. Show her what she deserves, show her just how little she has now.

The man working at the hotel desk gives her a key, calling her a blue-eyed babe as he swats a fly away with a ping pong racquet.

Clarke leans into Bellamy and whispers into his ear, so as not to offend the people she has no control over in the lobby.

“Do I have to stay here?”

Bellamy answers her much louder than she expected, obviously not caring who hears him and how that could affect her in the long run or anything.

“Cowboy up, all right? It costs $700 a month to house you on the inside, so that’s what it costs here. For the money, this is as good as it gets. If you find something better, and that’s a big if… take it.”

“What about clothes and toiletries? I’m wearing my whole wardrobe here, Bellamy.”

“You like thrift stores… there’s one at the end of the block.”

Bellamy knows Clarke hates thrift stores. Full of clothes no one has taken care of, vintage name-brand sweaters that only high school seniors from California would wear. Every store is disorganized and unorderly. But, if Bellamy’s trying to antagonize her, she will never give him the satisfaction of that. Sending her to prison twice should be enough of an ego boost. She opens her mouth to make a quick retort, but Bellamy stops her before she can get past even one syllable.

“No, don’t even start. No protests. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he just slaps this in her face. Frankly, prison might be better. “Look at her, huh?” Bellamy motions toward the woman in the corner. “You don’t get that in prison, do you?”

Clarke is too surprised by Bellamy’s question to react when the woman smacks her gum and tries to call Clarke over.

“Listen, your tracking anklet is set up so you can only travel within two miles of this place. Here’s your homework,” Bellamy continues, plopping a rather large file into Clarke’s hands.

“Remember. Two miles.”

He jabs Clarke in the shoulder with two fingers, trying to push some sort of macho man persona and then turns to leave the motel. When he makes it to the door, Bellamy says that he’ll see Clarke at seven the following morning. He closes the door and walks down the sidewalk, leaving Clarke in a hellhole without a second glance, or first for that matter.

Clarke stands in the lobby, speechless as the man behind the counter swats at another fly. 

 

**_Ark Thrift Store_ **

Clarke flips through racks of clothes unhappily.  _ Nike, Under Armour, Abercrombie…  _ A bell rings, indicating a new customer has arrived. Clarke hopes that they’ll have more luck finding something than she has.

“I’ve come to donate these.”

Clarke turns her head toward the cash register and sees an older Asian woman, clearly wealthy. Suddenly curious, Clarke walks over and when the clerk says something about suits, Clarke all but runs over to the register.

“Oh, those are amazing!”

“They were my late husbands. Chris always had a great taste in clothes, he passed some of that onto me I suppose,” the woman recites as she points to a stack of female pant suits and blazers. “After Chris passed away, I decided to do a bit of a clean out at home. My son would never wear these anyhow.”

“Would it be alright if I tried a few of these on?” The woman nods and Clarke does exactly as she asked until a grey suit catches her eye.

“Is this a Devore?” she asks appreciatively.

“Yep, Chris won it from Sy himself.”

“Won it?”

“Mhm, he beat him at a back door draw.”

Taken aback, Clarke can’t help herself from purchasing a few of the woman’s clothes herself.

“Your husband played poker with Sy Devore?”

“He certainly did… and so did I.”

“No…!” Clarke exclaims, completely blown away.

“Yes, the guys would even let me sit in once in awhile on a hand. And I was good, I’ll tell you.”

Clarke laughs and grabs a light blue scarf from the lady’s pile of donations and wraps it around herself, reveling in the silky material.

“I’m glad to see you appreciate these, I was hoping someone would. I’ve got a whole closet full of other pieces like these.”

“A whole closet?” The woman nods and Clarke shrugs into a jacket that was just the shade and style she was looking for.

“Technically it’s a guest suite, but I haven’t used it for anything but storage for years.” Clarke grabs a hat, obviously one of the woman’s husband’s fedoras. A true rat pack staple.

“Oh, Chris used to wear that one whenever we went dancing. The neighborhood was… let’s just say it was much more quiet than it is now.” An idea knocks into Clarke, like the strong smell of the woman’s perfume as she walks by.

“Do you live nearby?” Smiling, the interesting woman answers.

“Not far.” And suddenly, Clarke can’t help but grin as she realizes she has bested Agent Bellamy Bradbery Blake yet again.

 

**_The Eiffel Motel_ **

“Hey, I’m here for Griffin, room 319,” Bellamy tells the old desk clerk at the even older, more dilapidated motel.

“Oh yeah,” the clerk continues in recognition. “Yeah, the ol’ Blue Eyed Babe. Left ya a note.”

Confused, Bellamy reaches out when the clerk hands him a paper, which he unfolds and reads:  _ Dearest Bellamy, I have moved 1.6 miles _ followed by an address and signed  _ XOXO Clarkey. _ Exasperated, Bellamy realizes that he has no choice but to go to the address Clarke has scrawled out onto the paper.  _ Damn you, Griffin. _

 

**_The Green Residence_ **

Bellamy pulls up to the address and his jaw literally and metaphorically drops.  _ This can’t be right.  _ The house was beautiful, three stories with white paint and green shutters. At least $10 million worth of property, right in the heart of Manhattan.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bellamy says to himself, quite irritated with how perfect the opulent, old building truly is. He parks his car and walks up the stairs to the miniature mansion. He knocks on the door and a maid answers,  _ a freaking maid. _

“Uh, I think I have the wrong address.” From another room, a voice rings out followed by a woman dressed just as sophisticated as her home, with a small pug trailing behind her.

“You must be Bellamy.”

“I’m looking for Clarke Griffin,” he says, still in disbelief.

“You’re looking in the right place, detective. She’s just upstairs.”

Speechless, Bellamy follows the woman, knowing he would most likely get lost in the house if he was left to his own devices.

 

**_***_ **

On the roof of the building, Bellamy spots Clarke lounging in a robe, reading a newspaper. Without looking up, she addresses him.  _ You should really stop getting surprised when she does that. _

“You’re early.”

“We’re chasing a lead at the airport. We got a hit on Snow White.”

“Snow White… the phrase you decoded from a suspected Dutchman communique in Barcelona.”

“How…” but Bellamy stops as he figures Clarke probably has more information on all the criminals he’s trying to put away than the entirety of the FBI. He grunts in response and decides on sparking conversation about the elephant in the room, or roof for that matter.

“You moved.”

“Yeah, it’s nicer than the other place, don’t you think?” Clarke says slowly, knowing that she’s bested Bellamy at at least one thing so far.  _ I should have known everything would be an argument or a competition, or an argument about a competition. _

“I suppose… I don’t remember the other place having a view,” Bellamy states, obviously annoyed. Clarke seems to register this.  _ Maybe she  _ can _ read basic human emotions, or maybe I was just that blatantly clear. _

“Look, I went to the thrift store, like you suggested, and Hannahー”

“Lady with the dog. We met.” Clarke continues as if Bellamy never spoke, not wanting to cause further strife… or irritate the already irritated and irritating situation.

“ーwas donating her late husband’s clothes. We hit it off, she had an extra guest space…”

“Hmph.” Clarke cringes, never wanting to hear anyone say  _ hmph _ out loud again.

“You said, if I find a nice place for the same price, I should take it.”

Nodding, Bellamy finally intervenes with a complete sentence. “I did say that. All this for seven hundred?”

“Yep, but I have to help out around the place…”

“Oh sure, wash the dogー”

“More like… wash the Jag, walk the dog and watch her son from time to time,” Clarke says this with a laughing smile Bellamy doesn’t quite understand.

“She’s got you babysitting, huh?” and at that moment a few things click into place. A young man, obviously not as young as Bellamy was anticipating walks out onto the rooftop. The man has a slender build, black hair that resembles something similar to a bowl cut and a few birthmarks strewn across his face. His style, being no style at all consists of a pair of dark wash jeans and a shirt saying  _ Make Algae, Not War _ in green lettering. The man walks past the detective and bids Clarke a good morning, lays down on a lounge chair and opens the computer he walked in with, typing away furiously at the keyboard. Under his breath, Bellamy whispers something about having to babysit a millennial, to which Clarke mumbles back something about the agent not being able to take a joke.

Clarke leaves to get dressed and Bellamy takes a seat at a picnic table piled high with coffee, pastries and fruit. Not to mention a fresh copy of the New York Times. Hannah’s pug pulls her up onto the roof and she joins Bellamy at the table.

“Have you met my son?”

“Briefly,” Bellamy allows after looking over to the man that had not even acknowledged him before he sat down to check emails or something else insignificant.

“Oh Monty, please say hello… get your head out of those online computer science textbooks.” The man, Monty, glances up, gives Bellamy a huge grin, waves his hand and turns back to focus on his work.

“It might not seem like it, but that was pretty sincere for him. He’ll warm up to you eventually.” Bellamy nods and turns his own head down to look at the coffee in front of him. Everyone knows a federal agent could never turn down a nice roast. He takes a small sip from the cup in front of him andー

“It’s perfect… even the freaking coffee’s perfect.” Hannah laughs and Bellamy wonders about exactly how much backstory Clarke decided to give the woman.

“That’s not jewelry around her ankle, you know. She’s a felon. Convicted. Twice.” Conspiratorially, Hannah leans in closer to Bellamy.

“So was Chris.”

 

**_***_ **

Back in the living room, Hannah and Bellamy are making polite small talk as Clarke walks down the stairs, twirling one of the scarves she bought from Hannah in her hand.

“It’s the middle of the summer, Clarke.”

“Scarves are always fashionable… plus I get chilly sometimes.”

“Oh, excuse me then Princess.” Instead of answering, Clarke takes off her scarf and wraps it around Bellamy.

Swatting at the scarf, Bellamy tries his best to get Clarke out of the door.

“Would you stop with the scarf? Let’s go, c’mon.”

“You’re upset…” Clarke says with realization, then she mumbles something about sour grapes.

“What was that?”

“Look, you tell me which rule I broke and I will thumb it back to prison myself.”

“For starters…” but Bellamy seems to come up short with a reason as to why he’s so aggravated.

“Try again, Bellamy.”

“Fine… Fine,  I work hard. I do my job well and I don’t have a 10 million dollar view of Manhattan that I share with a 23 year old comp sci major while we sip espresso!”

“Well why not?”

“Why not?” Bellamy spits sarcastically.

“Yeah,” Clarke tries quite confidently.

“Because I’m not supposed to. The amount of work I do equals certain things in the real world notー cappuccino in the clouds!”

“Look, I will find out where Hannah buys her coffee if it’s that important.”

“It’s not about the coffee.

      “I think it is.”

      “Well, it’s not,” Clarke looks at him with a half-assed expression which causes Bellamy to blatantly chuckle out loud.

“This is what gets you in trouble, Clarke. This is the start of those something-for-nothing schemes that lead to the frauds that got you locked up.”

After a brief pause, “I think it’s… some kind of Italian roast.”

“Oh, get in the car Griffin!”

“Fine, fine,” is enough of an answer for Bellamy before he begins pushing Clarke out of the house, waving to Hannah as they stumble through the door frame. 

 

**_JFK International Airport_ **

As the pair walk near customs, Clarke spots who she assumes is one of Bellamy’s coworkers.

“Who’s that?”

“Raven Reyes. She’s my probie.”

“Come again?”

“Probationary agent. She does everything I don’t, she’s very good at her job, and she can do way better than you.”

“Like who? You?” After Bellamy stays silent, Clarke decides to elaborate. 98% due to the fact that she knows it’ll make Bellamy clam up and get all flustered. “C’mon Bellamy, you can’t really tell me you two have never hooked up… you’re too relaxed around her…”

“Clarke, would you stop? We’re at work, we should be working.”

“Quit being so sensitive! I  _ am _ working…  working on finding topics that make you uncomfortable.” At this point, the two of them have reached Raven.

“You must be Clarke Griffin. Nice scarf.” Clarke grins at Raven and then at Bellamy.

“Oh, please don’t get her started… what’ve we got?”

“The guy’s name is Tony Fields. Customs flagged him coming in from Spain in response to our Snow White bolo.”

“Alright… are customs playing nice?”

“As nice as they can. We have a case of the usual chest pounding. Technically, he’s in their custody, not ours.”

“I’m not complaining, it means less paperwork for me. What’s he carrying?”

“Oh, you’re going to love this.”

 

**_***_ **

In front of the trio are suitcases upon suitcases full of nothing but books. Bellamy starts off the conversation by providing Clarke and Raven with a really terrible Spanish translation. 

“Blancanieves y Los Siete Enanos?” Clarke dutifully translates the title of the books into Snow White and Her Seven Little Men. 

“This is what triggered our alert? What do we even know about this guy?” Raven butts in to answer his question, stating the man named Mr. Fields is supposedly a rare book dealer.

“Anything wrong with his paperwork?”

“Nope. He brought in the same books in the same quantity on three previous trips. He declared them each time.”

“All right, Griffin. Give us the run-down, are we wasting our time?” Clarke continues to look through the books, examining them as she speaks.

“They’re not limited runs or special editions. Can’t be worth much.”

“So why would he go through all the troubles of flying them in?”

“Good question, agent,” Clarke says cheekily. Again, Raven provides her input.

“He sure was nervous for having all the right paperwork.”

“I want to talk to him,” demands Bellamy, demanding in the nicest way possible of course.

“Sure, I’ll set it up boss. I’m grabbing some coffee, you want anything?” Raven asks politely.

“Yeah, anything but decaf.”

“Raven… I’ll take mine straight,” Clarke orders off handedly.

“Clarke… coffee shop’s outside.” Raven smiles at her and leaves the room. Bellamy looks up from the books and tells Clarke that Raven is way out of her league.

“Oh please, it’s just a little bit of harmless flirting. It’s like a dance.”

“Nope, there is no dance. You’re not even on her dance floor. No dancing for you,” Bellamy rambles on.

“Um, she digs the scarf,” Clarke reveals pointedly.

“Um, she digs her boyfriend more than the scarf.”

 

**_***_ **

“Bellamy Blake, FBI.” Inside a makeshift boardroom, the agent interviews Tony Fields, trying to get some answers about the Dutchman. 

“FBI? Oh, they’re really kicking it up a notch,” the lanky man responds.

“So… you’re a book dealer?”

“Yes, well, as I’ve told everyone here, repeatedly, my business is the import and sale of rare books.”

“How rare can they be? You’ve got 600 of them…”

“Let me go to the crime lab, help you dust for fingerprints.”

“I get it, ‘cause I’m trying to tell you how to do your job.” Tony gives Bellamy a look that says  _ yeah, that  _ was  _ the joke _ . Bellamy continues anyway.

“So… Snow White. In Spanish.”

“Yeah, well Snow White wasn’t exactly created by Disney, detective. There are a few stories that predate Steamboat Willie.”

“I’m a federal agent,” Bellamy spits. “And you mean folklore, the virginally pure queen? Like Alexander Pushkin’s ‘Tale of the White Princess and The Seven Knights.’ Is that what you mean?” Tony is visibly caught off guard, not expecting Bellamy to be so well read… big mistake. He decides to push the book dealer even further.

“What are the books for, Tony?” But before he can open his mouth to answer, the door bursts open with a heavy built man carrying a briefcase running into the room. Bellamy immediately knows the man is a lawyer. And he  _ hates _ lawyers.

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t talk to my client. You know, constitution and all.”

“Were you chasing the ambulance or did it give you a ride? Huh?” After the lawyer refuses to answer, Bellamy storms out of the room, shouting behind his back.

“Must’ve thumbed it!”

 

**_***_ **

Near a baggage claim sign, Clarke stands watching Raven flirt with a male customs agent. Bellamy walks up to Clarke, and again she senses him.

“No dance, huh?” she asks.

“Not for you.” Noticing Bellamy, Raven comes up to meet the pair, bidding the man she was with a quick goodbye. As Raven reaches them, Bellamy continues.

“Where’s the Customs Inspector?”

“Clarke was right, the books aren’t worth much. You can pick them up for a few dollars on Ebay,” Raven finishes and motions for the inspector to meet them. As he approaches, Bellamy starts questioning him.

“Why didn’t you tell me that the guy lawyered up? The second he makes that call, I can’t talk to him.”

“He didn’t call anybody,” the inspector answers, seemingly confused by Bellamy’s line of questioning.

“Then how did his lawyer know that heー” Suddenly, Bellamy understands.  He runs back in the direction of the board room, Clarke, Raven and the inspector struggling to keep up behind him. He busts through the door, everyone else filing in after the agent. Bellamy runs up to Tony but stops short, seeing a hypodermic needle sticking out of his neck. He backs away as the inspector moves forward, calling for a paramedic. But Bellamy knows it’s a lost cause, Tony and his case both.

 

**_***_ **

Later, Bellamy, Clarke and Raven are still pouring over suitcases of books. Bellamy breaks the silence, not being able to keep it in any longer.

“Let’s think about this: we have a dead book dealer, a killer lawyer and a bunch of worthless books. I mean, come on Clarke, as a reformed professional counterfeiter, what is the Dutchman’s interest in these?”

Clarke has one of the books open to the title page. She mutters something to herself, staring at the book when her eyes glance over the publication date.

“Published 1944 in Madrid.” Clarke realizes that what they’ve been searching for has been right under their noses. “This is what he’s after.” She grabs a ruler from the desk in the corner of the large room and slides it underneath the top sheet of the book, in between the hard cover and a folded sheet of paper. Bellamy, still confused decides to question her.

“Just the top sheet? Isn’t it just another piece of paper?”

“No, it’s more than that,” says Clarke smiling. “This is a piece of 1944 Spanish press parchment.”

“Okay, so that’s what he wanted. Good. This is good.” Now Raven understands as well.

“He’s going to counterfeit something that was originally printed on paper like that.”

“That’s what I would do,” Clarke says, agreeing with Raven.

“Tony made three prior shipments just like these,” Bellamy reminds the two women.

“Two blank pages a book means 600 sheets,” Clarke informs.

“Too many for paintings, not enough for currency. I bet our dead book dealer knew. Raven, where’s that wallet we got off of him?”

“Over here,” Raven answers as she points to a brown wallet on a table next to a few other personal belongings the coroner left. Bellamy leafs through the wallet and pulls out a single card.

“This is where he went the day before he left for Spain.” He throws down the card and Raven reads out the name on the visitor pass.

“He went to The National Archives.”


	3. Parchment III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke meets a very special member of the Blake household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going up a day early because I'm going to a SYML concert tomorrow! The final part to this "episode" will go up in two Thursdays. Happy reading!

**_National Archive Building_ **

In one of the back rooms of the building, an archivist named Vincent is explaining that he remembers Tony, courtesy of a picture of him that  _ sparked  _ his memory.

“He came by several months ago and then again last week. This is what he came to see.” He lays down a piece of parchment on the table in front of him carefully. “The Spanish Victory Bond. He took a few photographs of it, said he was going to write a book. It’s a shame he’s dead… this bond does have quite the fascinating story.”

“It’s a Goya?” Clarke pipes up.

“Yes. Beautiful, isn’t it?” Bellamy takes out a piece of paper from one of the title pages of the book and lays it over the bond.

“Oh, look at that. A perfect fit,” then to Clarke, “You’re starting to earn your 700 a month.”

“You said it had a fascinating history,” Clarke prompts Vincent.

“Quite. It was issued during the war.”

“1944.”

“Yeah… yes, the US issued the bond to support the Spanish underground in their battle against the Axis. Very few have ever been redeemed,” suddenly something clicks and Clarke smiles at her realization. Vincent continues, giving Clarke no more than an additional glance.

“There’s speculation that entire boxes were captured and many are still hidden away in the caves of Altamira.” Bellamy also misses Clarke’s delighted expression so he continues to prompt Vincent.

“Whole boxes of these?”

“Yeah. Boy, that would be something, wouldn’t it? This is the only surviving copy.”

“Except it’s a forgery,” is all Clarke says when she finally butts in. With both Bellamy and Vincent proficiently shocked, Clarke goes on. “It’s the ink. The ink on the fake is an iron-gal dye mixed to match the period colors, but it hasn’t dried yet. You can still smell the gum arabic,” she finishes as she passes the bond over to Bellamy and the archivist. Vincent still seems hesitant, whether he just doesn’t want to accept the fact or having to admit that he made a mistake.

“That can’t be. This bond has been here since 1952.” 

“No, this bond’s been here less than a week.”

 

**_FBI White Collar Division NYC_ **

Inside a conference room, Bellamy debriefs a few agents on updates regarding the Dutchman.

“Alright… Tony makes two trips. The first time, he takes a picture of the bond. The second time, he steals the original and replaces it with the copy in the Archives now. Can we confirm that?” In the room, Miller, Raven, and Clarke sit around a huge table covered in papers and files and more papers. Bellamy is standing in the front of the room, pacing back and forth while glancing at a file in his hands. Clarke is tossing a rubber band ball around, obviously uninterested.

“The timed ink identification test puts the age of the bond at approximately six days. Which coincides with Tony’s visit,” Miller informs the group.

“We’re pulling surveillance video to back it up,” Raven adds.

“Good,” Bellamy sighs in mock relief. “So, the question is why go through the trouble of making a really nice forgery, on the right kind of paper just to stick it back in the archives?”

“Is the bond still negotiable?” Clarke asks.

“It’s a zero option, so it never expires. What’s it worth?”

“Thousand dollars face value, drawing nine percent interest,” Miller recites.

“Compounded for sixty-four years,” Raven says as both her and Miller hunch over a calculator trying to get a total.

“248 thousand dollars,” Clarke interrupts before Miller or Raven can type in the 6 in sixty-four. The three agents all look surprised by Clarke’s quick math as Miller finishes his calculations.

“What she said.”

“Quarter of a million, not chump change. And he’s got 600 sheets of the stuff,” Bellamy finishes as Raven looks to Clarke, silently asking her to do the calculations. After a minute, Clarke answers.

“150 million… give or take.”

“He’d be a rich man if he could pass them off, but that still doesn’t tell us why he would take out the real bond and put in a forgery,” Bellamy pauses to think.

“I think it does. What if he claimed he found boxes of the original bonds?” Clarke offers.

“Dragged them out of the caves in Spain…”

“Yeah, how would they be authenticated?”

“They’d be taken to the archives and compared to the original,” Bellamy finally catches up to Clarke’s train of thought.

“Which he’s already switched out with one of his own copies.”

“So of course they’d match,” Bellamy says excitedly. “Oh, this is good. This is really good… all right, let’s think about thisー” Bellamy is cut off by his phone ringing. He looks at the caller ID and sees Octavia’s face illuminate on the screen. Bellamy winces because he knows he’s in for a scolding so he adamantly gestures everyone out of the room. He picks up the phone, bracing himself.

“Hey. Would you believe me if I said I was pulling up in front of the house now?”

“You lost track of time. It happens,” Octavia says calmly which puts Bellamy on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I hope you didn’t make dinner, I know Tuesdays are our night…”

“Please… did you forget who I am? I’m smarter than that Bell, besides you know I can’t cook anyway,” Bellamy laughs, feeling the tension and Octavia continues. “So how’s Clarke doing?”

“Well, she met Raven.”

“Finally someone who would never be remotely interested in her, huh? Bet that’s going to take some time for her to get used to. Is she helping?”

“Yeah… yes, um… we’re onto something here, O.”

“So, I won’t wait up,” disappointment evident in her voice.

“I’m leaving. Ten minutes, I promise. Twenty at most.”

“I know,” she says and hangs up. Bellamy takes the phone away from his ear, sits down around a conference table, puts his head in his hands and sighs.

 

**_***_ **

In Bellamy’s car, standard issue black FBI SUV, Clarke tries to strike up a conversation, much to Bellamy’s chagrin.

“Big plans for the weekend?” she asks.

“Oh, you know, gotta fix the sink, catch the game…”

“With Octavia?”

“Yeah, yeah she’s into it. How cool is that? She loves to watch the Giants,” Bellamy says smiling.

“Uh huh. Even on her birthday?” Bellamy comprehends the statement and pulls the car over onto the side of the road they were driving on. He runs his hand through his hair for around the fiftieth time today and then puts his forehead on his steering wheel.

“I see this stuff coming from six months out and then I take it right in the teeth, every time.”

“Relax, Bellamy. You still have a few days,” Clarke mediates.

“No Clarke, you don’t understand. This is exactly what happened last year. I said I’d make up for it with something special, not just a corner booth at Grounders!”

“Alright, brother-of-the-year. Let’sーlet’s problem solve. What’s she into?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, existentially. What makes her feel alive?” Clarke asks.

“IーI’m drawing a blank,” Bellamy says completely dumbfounded.

“How could you not know? When you were chasing me you knew my shoe size, what time I woke up in the morningー” 

“Thatーthat’s my job. It’s very different.”

“So a relationship isn’t work? Especially between siblings…”

“Oh, no, no. You do  _ not  _ get to leture me about relationships of any kind. My sister didn’t change her identity and flee the country to get away from me.” Clarke looks as if Bellamy had just slapped her, legitimately not being able to believe that Bellamy had just said something like that.

Bellamy starts driving again. He looks over and sees Clarke’s shocked expression and tries to make up for his mistake. “That was harsh. I didn’tーI didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, you did.” Bellamy makes a noncommital sound and Clarke remembers something that stuck out to her.

“Did Finn really flee the country?”

“I don’t know.”

“France. Did he go to France?” Clarke questions a bit hysterically.

“I don’t know, Clarke… and what am I going to do about O?”

“Nope. No more relationship advice from this side of the car. Call Dr. Phil, okay?”

 

**_The Green Residence_ **

Clarke climbs the staircase of Hannah and Monty Green’s extravagant home. Clarke doesn’t really know how she feels about her day between getting a substantial lead on the Dutchman and her constant back and forth between Bellamy. He either treats her like an equal or like a low-life criminal he thinks he put in prison. A faint sound pulls Clarke out of her reflection.  _ Like someone pouring a drink. _ She quietly backs off of the stairs and heads for the kitchen, pulling a cane out of the umbrella stand she passes. She sees a man sitting around the breakfast table but can’t quite make out his face due to the darkness of the night. When the man begins to speak, Clarke immediately recognizes his voice, lowers her cane and turns on the light. 

“I saw the best minds in my generation get run down by the drunken taxi cab of absolute reality.”

“The hell, Jasper! Sitting in the dark, misquoting Getsburg?”

“The light’s how they find you, Clarke,” says Jasper, a bit too chipper for the lateness of the night.

“You know you can’t just help yourself here. How’d you get in anyway?”

“I used this,” Jasper answers as he raises his fist menacingly. “I knocked,” he allows. “Introduced myself to Hannah… she’s great. Met Monty and I feel like he’s my long lost brother that I’ve been missing for the past quarter century. I swear, we’re going to make friendship bracelets for each other!”

“Yeah. Yeah… but,” Clarke says, suddenly sincere “thanks for coming.”

“What was I going to do? Not come?” Jasper takes a breath before bracing himself for the answer to his next question. “Can I see it?” Clarke heaves her leg onto a chair next to Jasper, revealing the tracker adorning her ankle.

“Can you pick it?” Clarke asks hopefully.

Examining the contraption while toying with Clarke’s ankle, Jasper responds. “Nope, no way. You flew too close to the sun my friend, they burned your wings.” Clarke knew Jasper probably wouldn’t be able to do it, he never really excelled at this type of stuff.  _ Monty on the other hand… _ Clarke changes the subject, still disappointed and slightly agitated.

“Where’s Finn, Jas? Where’d he go?”

“He’s a ghost, Clarke. He did an outstanding job of melting away,” Jasper says regretfully.

“Well… keep looking. Check France.”

“France?” Jasper asks skeptically.

“I know, okay, it’s probably nothing, just— look everywhere,” Clarke finishes until she remembers what she’s been doing all day. “Something else too. I need you to help me figure out who created this,” she prompts, pulling out the forged Spanish Victory Bond from her coat pocket.

“It’s superb,” Jasper says in awe, studying the faked bond. “You know the worst thing about art forgery? You can’t take credit for your own work.”

And that’s when another idea hit Clarke. At this rate, she would solve the case before Agent Blake even came up with an official case file.

 

**_The Blake Residence_ **

The following morning, Bellamy stands in front of his bathroom mirror, shaving his face. He notices the quiet of the upper level of his home and decides to do a little “research” for Octavia’s birthday.

“Octavia?” Bellamys shouts and waits for an answer. “O?” Again, with no answer. Bellamy makes his way out of the bathroom and moves swiftly into Octavia’s room. He quickly riffles through her books and CDs, looking for something to spark some birthday idea inspiration. He sees her laptop on a table and opens it, the screensaver a picture of both of them at a combat class holding up swords the length of their bodies.

“Ah, you haven’t changed,” he says to himself nostalgically. “I’ve changed.” Bellamy’s phone rings which reminds him that he does need to get to work at one point during the day. He quickly puts Octavia’s things back to how they were and exits they room to pick up the call.

“This is Blake.”

“Yeah, it’s Miller. Griffin’s anklet just activated. Is she with you?” Miller’s question throws Bellamy for a loop. He was expecting Clarke to run but not so soon.

“No, she’s not. I’m coming.”

“I’ve got Raven on it, pulling up her location now.” Bellamy runs down the stairs shouting a goodbye to his sister. “O, I’ve got to go, Clarke’s outside her radius.”

He hears laughter as he turns into his living room, cell phone still by his ear, blazer in hand. And in plain view on his yellow couch, is Clarke Griffin in all her glory, sitting next to Octavia giggling over the forgery from the Dutchman case. Miller’s voice comes on the line.

“Blake, you still there?” he questions.

“Griffin is with me,” Bellamy answers gravely.

“You’re sure?” Miller asks, not actually sure of Bellamy’s statement.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bellamy writes the other agent off and hangs up, looking directly at Clarke and Octavia as he shoves his phone in his pocket.

“Morning, big brother,” Octavia greets him sweetly.

“Bellamy,” Clarke acknowledges him cooly.

“You’re on my couch,” he answers with just as much ice.

“Yeah, I came to talk to you, and, uh, frankly Bellamy I have to say I’m surprised you have such an amazing sister.”

“Yeah, I like her. Get off my couch.”

“Oh Bell, we were just chatting,” Octavia intervenes.

“Chatting… right. How did you get here?” Bellamy addresses Clarke.

“Uber.”

“You activated your tracker. You’re in my house, on my couch, with my sister.” The golden retriever Bellamy and Octavia adopted, Napoleon, whines in the corner of the living room and runs up to Clarke’s outstretched hand.

“And you’re petting my dog,” Bellamy allows.

“Did you really put Octavia’s first date under surveillance before he asked her out?” Bellamy clearly embarrassed, says nothing, not wanting to make himself look guilty.

“Bellamy… I underestimated you.”

“You told her,” Bellamy accuses his sister.

“Oh, he said he wanted to make sure Atom was good for me… believe me, I hated it then but now I think it’s sweet!” Octavia tries to save herself.

“I think it’s adorable,” Clarke says, sending Bellamy a smirk.

“I’m putting you back in prison,” Bellamy concludes, ending the conversation. He takes out his phone to call the supermax which scares Clarke into shouting her next statement.

“I know who the Dutchman is!” This surprises Bellamy enough to hang up the phone and listen to Clarke.

“Enlighten me.”

“Charles Pike. He’s an art restorer. One of the best in the world, but his own work never took off. He’s particularly good at Goya restorations… that’s what this is, Bellamy. The bond is him showing off.”

“Interesting theory,” he admits. “How do we prove it?”

“He signed it,” Clarke says seriously but Bellamy huffs a laugh.

“I think we might’ve noticed a signature tucked in the corner.”

“Show me,” Octavia prompts with a comforting nod in Clarke’s direction.

“Look at the pants on the Spanish peasant. What do you see? It’s the initials C and P.” Bellamy looks at the bond, but is still visibly unconvinced.

“I don’t know… seems like a stretch.”

“Look, Bellamy… this bond is a masterpiece. If I’d done something this good, I would’ve signed it. Hell, the forgeries you caught me on, I signed them.”

“Where?” Bellamy asks, surprised.

“Look at the bank seal under polarized light sometime,” Clarke answers offhandedly. Bellamy winces and silently scolds himself for not trying that.

“Pike is doing a church restoration on Third Street, we can stop by on our way in.”

“Fine. Meet me in the car,” Bellamy instructs but Clarke doesn’t move. “I’m going to say goodbye to my sister now.”

“Oh, of course. It was nice meeting you, Octavia,” the blonde woman smiles at his sister naturally. Octavia quickly replies.

“It was nice to meet you too. After all these years.”


	4. Parchment IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do Bellamy and Clarke catch the Dutchman or does he escape the FBI's grasp again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed public of this chapter, I got a bit caught up in some things and I totally forgot! Happy reading!

**_Third Street Orthodox Church_ **

In a beautiful cathedral, a group of men are busy at work painting. The men, obviously restoring the paintings look over at Clarke and Bellamy, but say nothing as they return to their art. A priest walks up to the pair instead.

“You can’t come in here, we’re closed for restoration,” the priest says, motioning towards the working men.

“Oh sorry, Father,” Bellamy says quickly, knowing when he’s not wanted.

“Could we just have a moment?” Clarke asks Bellamy, taking the priest away from him and out of hearing distance Bellamy, visibly confused stays where he is, curious to Clarke’s approach.

“Please, Father,” Clarke starts. “My best friend is having a crisis of the soul. He’s a… married man and he has the most devastatingly beautiful assistant at work, a very provocative woman. He’s been tempted… more than tempted. I have details.”

“Yes, that’s very common now-a-days. Unfortunately, very common,” the priest says, saddened by the thought.

“And I want to confront him about this before he tears apart his life. He has a lot of faults, I mean don’t get me started, he is a mess, but he’s very… spiritual.” Both Clarke and the priest look over to Bellamy as she says this. He notices their eyes, fidgets uncomfortably and smiles cluelessly.

“I know this is the place where my words will have the most effect,” Clarke continues.

“This is the city of churches. We’re closed. Surely, there’s another placeー”

“This is where he was married…” The priest sighs after a moment and gives them five minutes.

“Did you just lie to a priest?” Bellamy asks Clarke as she turns and moves toward a painting.

“Do you consider yourself married to your work?”

“Yeah, I guess so…”

“And do you find Raven attractive?”

“Sure.”

“Then I think we’re good,” Clarke finishes and pats Bellamy’s shoulder as they approach a painting. “Extraordinary,” Clarke whispers under her breath.

“Yeah, really nice… well, if this Pike guy is as good as you say how come I’ve never heard of him?”

“You only know the guys who get caught. You know all the second best criminals.”

“What’s that say about you?” Bellamy asks cheekily.

“It says there’s any exception to every rule. Look,” Clarke points toward the painting. “C and P.”

“Where?”

“Right there. Rightー” pointing to the hem of the dress of a woman on the artwork “there. C, P.”

“Maybe…”

“What do you mean ‘maybe’? Thats a C and a P.” With Bellamy and Clarke still bickering, a man that looks a lot like Charles Pike’s ID picture approches them and intervenes. 

“Can I help you two? Your faceー” looking to Clarke “it’s very familiar… mabye I’ve seen it on the news, or perhaps on a most wanted webpage.”

“Clarke Griffin,” she says, extending a hand in Pike’s direction. He doesn’t take it, so she drops her outstretched hand dejectedly.

“Forgive me if I don’t shake hands with an art theif.”

“I was never arrested for art theft.”

“Not arrested, but as I recall you were known as quite the Renaissance criminal. So you understand my concern at having you in my space,” then for the first time, Pike looks toward Bellamy. “And… you are?”

“Just a friend,” he shrugs in answer.

“Well, friend. This church is closed.” The couple take the hint and start walking toward the exit. Once out of earshot of Pike, Clarke continues.

“Did you see it?”

“Okay, you’ve got me curious, I’ll give you that much. We’ll check him out.” As they leave the church, the pair pass the priest Clarke spoke with earlier.

“Listen to the spirit son, not the flesh,” he says, addressing Bellamy. The agent just nods and looks down at Clarke.

“What was that about?”

 

 ** _FBI White Collar Division_** **_NYC_**

Clarke makes her way across the twenty-first floor, going up to and entering Bellamy’s office.

“Oh, perfect,” Bellamy says once Clarke presents herself. “I need your help eith this,” he says as he passes he a few sheets of paper.

“Is this information on Pike?”

“No, Raven’s on her way with that.”

“Wait… this is your sister’s Visa bill.”

“Yeah, I got it all… her Ebay bids, video rentals, library books. Thank you, Patriot Act,” he finishes laughily.

“So, you’re stalking your own sister…”

“You want to compare notes? Finn related?”

“Touché. So, you figure out what she likes?”

“Yeah, it’s all in the summary. Harvesting butterflies, dystopian novels, scented candlesー Oleander. EDM. Anything Italian except anchoviesー”

“If I’m honest Bellamy, I don’t think you’re going to find your answer tucked into a list of Octavia’s Ebay bids.”

“Then help me out here, Clarke. You’re the one always going on about relationships. I mean, what’s the deal with the bottle?”

“It’s an ‘82 Bordeaux,” Clarke says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, costs 800 bucks a pop.”

“It does when it’s full. I got it empty.”

“Empty?” Bellamy prompts her to continue.

“Look, when Finn and I met, we had nothing. I got that bottle, and I used to fill it up with whatever cheap wine we could afford and we’d sit in that crappy apartment and drink it over cold pizza and pretend we were living in the Cote d’Azur.”

“How’d that work out for you?”

“It didn’t,” Clarke says despondently as she sits down across from Bellamy’s desk. “Because that bottle was a promise of a better life. What Finn got was a girl locked away for half a decade. Make Octavia any promises, Bellamy? Or do you think all she wants is Oleander candles?” Bellamy thinks about it until he hears a knock on the door followed by a not-so-happy Raven.

“Hey, what’ve you got?” asks Bellamy.

“Pike is leaving the country. He booked a flight through a private charter company in Barcelona for the nineteenth.”

“One week. Damn it, Clarke, seeing you must’ve tipped him off,” bellamy growls.

“He’s going to Spain, that’s something,” Clarke says trying to bring light into the conversation.

“Is there any connection between our books, the bonds and the murder?” Bellamy asks Raven and she answers.

“Pike’s impressive as hell. He’s got a lot of international holdings, but he keeps himself out of the muck.”

“You get every available agent on this. You know the good ones, steal them if you have to. I want to know every single thing about this guy and I don’t want any excuse.” If anything gets in your wayー”

“Forge your signatue,” Raven says smiling. “Always do!” she shouts as she hurries out of the room.

“That’s what I like to hear!” Bellamy calls after her. He continues in a more gruesome tone towars Clarke. “If you’re right about Pike, we have a week to connect hi to the bonds. If we lose him on the nineteenth… Clarke, if we lose him, you’re back in. I can’t save you.”

 

**_The Green Residence_ **

Clarke comes home that night to a waiting Jasper, sitting at the dining room table. She takes off her scarf and places it into his outstretched hand.

“You’re late,” he says.

“Hey, give me a break. I’m a working woman now.”

“So?”

“We were right about Pike.”

“Of course we were right,” Jasper says proudly.

“And I was stupid and impulsive and he saw me,” Clarke continues, disappointed in herself. “I have one week to link him to the bonds.”

“One week or what?”

“I go back.”

“No, no, no. No way, we can’t let that happen Clarke.”

“I know… we’ll just have to figure something out. Did you find anything about Finn?”

“Aha! Apparently, when a tree falls in the forest, it does make a sound.” He slides a photo across the table to Clarke. A picture of Finn looking off to the side at a man with a ring that has a hand on his shoulder. The man’s face is cut off.

“I might lose him again, Jas,” Clarke says broken-heartedly.

“Lose him? I just found him.”

“So did he, Jas. So did he,” Clarke repeats, looking at the picture. “Looks like we have two people to find now.”

 

**_FBI White Collar Division NYC_ **

Bellamy and Clarke walk alongside each other outside the next day after a quick lunch outside the headquarters.

“Remember when you told me not to look for Finn?”

“Yeah…” Bellamy says confused, as Clarke hands him the picture Jasper gave her last night, however the man’s hand and ring has been cut off, only Finn’s face and the ATM remain. Bellamy is evidently unpleased.

“Clarke, you’re putting me in a tough spot here.”

“These were taken four days ago at a San Diego ATM. He’s going under the name Finn Perdue. Do you know what Perdue means in French?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy sighs. “It means lost.” He shoves the picture back at Clarke without a second glance.

“Yeah, it makes you wonder, right? Is he lost to me? Or without me?”

“Stop it.” Clarke pauses for a second but continues on quickly, ignoring Bellamy’s comment.

“Look, I just need a couple of days after this Dutchman thing is over, a couple days to go to San Diego. You can send an agent with me. You can come with meー”

“Stop it, stop it, stop it! How many times are you going to screw up your life for this guy? I hate to break it to you, Clarke, but he dumped you. With prejudice. Exactly what is your plan to find him?” Clarke shakes her head, unable to give her an answer. Bellamy raises his eyebrows, waiting for Clarke’s response.

“No… I know there’s more to our story. He disappears into the dust… no, that’s not an ending.”

“Come on, Clarke. We’ve all been there,” Bellamy coaxs her gently. “But it’s get easier.”

“Not if he’s the one…” Bellamy sighs without saying anything, knowing he wouldn’t be able to convince Clarke that she didn’t need Finn. She takes his silence as permission to go on. “I brought this to you. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“No. We made a deal. I gave you something good here and you’re about to blow it.” Clake fidgets and then starts to laugh.

“Ugh, you’re right, you’re right, Bellamy. I’m a smart girl. I should know when I’ve been dumped.” Bellamy definitely doesn’t buy Clarke’s little speech, but he let’s it go.

“You figure out Octavia’s birthday plans yet?”

“I’m getting close… very close.”

“So… you’ve got nothing.”

“Nothing yet. But I’ll figure it out.” Clarke spots Jasper in a crowd of smokers standing just outside the headquarters, closer than Jas has probably ever gotten to any government building.

“Hey, uh, I’m gonna go grab a smoke real quick,” Clarke mentions to Bellamy.

“Didn’t know you smoked.”

“Ah, it’s a nasty prison habit, I’ve been trying to quit.” Bellamy sees Agent Miller in the crowd of smokers and tells him to keep an eye on Clarke. Miller nods back as Bellamy enters the FBI.

“Bum one from ya?” Clarke asks Jasper nonchalantly. 

“These things’ll kill you…” he jokes seriously.

“You know that’s what I keep hearing, but I’m not dead yet.”

“These filters though,” Jasper says, handing Clarke a cigarette. “They’re good. Not for me, you understand. I tear them off.” Miller butts in, purposfully trying to break up their conversation.

“Need a light? You should try the patch,” he says as he lights both Jasper’s and Clarke’s cigs.

“Two years and counting my friend,” Jasper says, patting his upperarm. “I hate the tan lines.” Miller backs off and recedes to another group of agents.

“You don’t smoke,” Clarke says quietly. Jasper replies to her, just as quiet.

“What was I supposed to do? Fire off a flare?”

“Right, okay… so, you tear off the filters,” says Clarke, returning to a regular volume.

“Yeah, but I’m hard core,” Jasper pronounces as he chokes on some smoke from his cigarette ironically.

 

**_***_ **

At her desk, Clarke fiddles around with her put out cigarette. She tears off the filter, as per Jasper’s cryptic request. A small scroll with an address scribbled along it, slides out of the cigarette. Clarke stands up, unable to stop the grin blooming on her face.

 

**_***_ **

In his office, Bellamy logs on to the computer in front of him. The screensaver is another picture of him and Octavia holding up daggers from a combat class. The next picture is one of the two of them at a shooting range, Bellamy grinning ehile holding a gun as Octavia sticks out her tongue and crosses her arms. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips just before Clarke knocks on his door and walks in.

“I found my bottle,” Bellamy starts.

“I found Pike,” Clarke counters, holding up the address.

“You first.”

“There’s this warehouse, down by the docks. Pike operates in the warehouse through a shell corporation out of Guatemala.”

“We didn’t know about this… so how did you?”

“I don’t think you and your Kirkland Signature blazer boys rely on rumor as much as I do.”

 

**_Boat Basin Dock_ **

On a heavily guarded dock downtown, Bellamy and Clarke stay out of sight next to a large door. Bellamy stands idly by while Clarke presses her ear against the door, trying to pick up on any activity coming from inside the warehouse.

“Wait, did you hear that? Bellamy, listen,” she says while pulling Bellamy closer to the door.

“Hear what?”

“Kind of a rhythmic shh-shh sound. That’s a press… damn it Bellamy, that’s a printing press! Pike’s printing bonds in there right now, you can hear him!” Convinced after hearing the slightly oceanic sound of the press, Bellamy asks how long until the bonds would be finished printing.

“A multicolor print job as complicated as the Goya… with test proofs, ink formulation, perfect registration… he should be running it for days.” Bellamy quickly grabs his phone and makes a call to his favorite probie.

“Raven.”

“Yeah, Blake?”

“I need recording equipment down here immediately.”

 

**_FBI White Collar Division NYC_ **

In a conference room, Clarke and Bellamy sit around a table discussing strategy.

“I am on board. Pike is our guy, but we still don’t have enough for a warrant…” Bellamy admits.

“We know the bonds are there, just open the door…”

“Mmm-hm. Well, you should read this,” Bellamy says as he slides a heavyset book towards Clarke. “Warrant law. All I’ve got is sound coming out of a warehouse and no way to link Pike to the bond.” Bellamy gets up from his seat and moves over near Clarke, leaning on the table. “I need to talk to your friend.”

“Friend?”

“Come on, Clarke. That lanky guy who gave you a cigarette.”

“I have noー”

“What, do you think Miller’s an idiot?” Clarke sighs but Bellamy isn’t finished. “I have to know how he connected Pike to the warehouse. Clarke… you have to trust me.” After a nervous pause, Clarke finally relents.

“Okay, okay. I’ll bring you to him first thing tomorrow.”

 

**_The Green Residence_ **

Clarke decides to stay up all night reading. When she was a little kid, her dad would always read stories to her, about anything and everything and she wouldn’t let him leave until eh told her the story about a hundred bad children that got sent down to Earth from space. Her father read that book so many times that he ended up memorizing it after a while.

Regardless, Clarke took up reading Warrant Law. One of the most informative yet painstakingly slow books she has ever read. She is about to put the book away and head to bed until she glances at the next page. She skims over it, closes the book and throws on some clothes.

Clarke pulls up her pant leg and looks down at her tracker. A green light on the anklet stays lit, illuminating Clarke’s grinning face as she grabs Hannah’s keys and leaves the grandious house in an even more lavish car.

 

**_The Blake Residence_ **

On Bellamy’s night stand, his phone vibrates. The sun hasn’t risen yet, and he automatically knows something is wrong. Miller would never call him before sunrise, he’d be way to grumpy at the office. He picks up his phone and runs into Octavia’s room to wake her up simultaneously. Miller’s voice resonates tiredly through the phone, Octavia only hearing her brother’s answer.

“Yeah… he replies. “Damn.”

“What’s going on, Bell?” Octavia asks groggily, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

“She ran.”

 

**_Boat Basin Dock_ **

Clarke pulls up to the dock, open the car door and starts taking pictures of the warehouse with the printer that was producing the bonds.

One of the people on look out see her and shout in her direction. The wind carries the sound and two men run up to her.

“Hey! Hey! What are you doing? You can’t be here.”

“Oh, I’m taking a class over the Annex and pictures of rusty sheet metal are a sure fire A.” The men obviously don’t buy it. Two of the look-outs grab Clarke and drag her inside the warehouse. Sure enough, stacks of  _ Blancanieves y Los Siete Enanos _ are everywhere and thankfully, the printing press is still running. The two men march Clarke into a glass office in the center of the warehouse. They leave Clarke in the office, running over to alert Pike.

“What exactly is going on here?” Pike shouts. Clarke quickly runs up to the door and locks it.

“Why did you bring her inside?” he seeths, turning on the men that brought her in.

“She was taking pictures,” one of the braver men answer. Another man pulls out a gun, using it to knock on the glass.

“Open the door! You’re a dead woman!”

“Ah, ah, ah... that sounds like inch-thick, Lexan,” Clarke says slyly. “At least Pike had enough brain power to understand that you bone-headed goons would try something at one point or another.” Pike signals something to a man who then runs off.

“Keys are on their way,” Pike says cooly. Clarke is undetered however. She sits down in the chair within the office and wraps her hands around the desk in front of the chair. “Nice,” Clarke admits as she props her legs up on the table. “You really shouldn’t have signed the bonds. I’m no stranger to vanity myself, so I understand the impulse.”

“I’m  _ will  _ kill you, Clarke. I hope whatever they’re giving you, it’s worth it.”

“It is.” Pike opens his mouth to rip further into Clarke when the sound of sirens interupts him. He looks around nervously as Clarke lifts his pant leg to reveal her tracker, flashing an obnoxious red light.

“You’re a particular kind of bitch, aren’t you?” Pike yells in Clarke direction, but all she does in return is shrug which makes him even angrier. He starts shouting at his men to grab the bonds and run, knowing deep down there’s no way he can escape this.

 

**_***_ **

Bellamy climbs out of his car and smiles once he realizes exaclty where he followed his GPS.

“Gentlemen, we have a fugitive hiding in this building. You have permision to knock down those doors!”

 

**_***_ **

Pike and his men are still running around as federal agents pummel through the entrance, shouting commands varying from “Freeze!” “Get in there!” and “Federal Agents!” to “Get ‘em up in the air!” Pike’s hands and all of his men fly up, boxes of bonds fluttering to the floor as Bellamy enters the warehouse.

“This is what the law calls an exigent circumstance. Any of you Harvard grads know what that is? Huh?” he asks, surveying the fugitives. “No hands? Raven, care to give us a definition?”

“Exigent circumstance allows us to pursue a suspect onto private property without obtaining a warrant,” Raven starts, smiling.

“And to seize any and all evidence that is discovered in plain view, regardless of its connection to the original crime,” Bellamy finishes. He walks towards one of the bonds on the floor, picks it up and smiles in Pike’s direction.

“Remember me, friend?” Pike’s eyes narrow and Bellamy moves toward the glass office in the center of the warehouse. As he approaches, Clarke unlocks the door, smoking a cigar.

“You know, you’re really bad at this whole escaping thing.”

“What can I say?” Clarke shrugs and grins, taking her seat in Pike’s chair again, blowing a cloud of smoke above her. “Cigar?”

“Cuban?”

“Mm, you should arrest me.”

“I’ll let the cigar go, but you are a fleeing susect,” Bellamy answers matching Clarke’s grin. She glances behind Bellamy, looking right at a cracked safe.

“Is that the original bond?” he asks, making his way to the safe.

“Why yes, yes it is.”

Bellamy laughs and hoists himself up onto Pike’s desk, sitting himself down next to Clarke’s propped up feet.

“You know this makes me 3 and 0?”

“Maybe I’m not trying hard enough…”

 

**_Grove Fitness Center_ **

A blindfolded Octavia stumbles past the door frame with Bellamy leading her into the gym. She smiles wider than she ever has before, making Bellamy chuckle.

“Careful.”

“I’ll be careful as soon as you take this blindfold off.”

“All right, all right.” Bellamy tells his sister to stop walking and slowly takes off the blindfold she’d been wearing since they entered Bellamy’s car a few minutes ago. She opens her eyes and looks confused as she glances around the gym she’s been too many times before.

“Bell, what’s going on?”

Blushing, he tells Octavia all about how excited she always gets whenever they take combat classes and when she learns new skills, and how she always makes Bellamy look like a fool because of how easily she picks up techniques. He gushes about how passionate she is about training and eventually segways into his gift for her birthday.

“I’ve arranged for you to take a few more classes and you can take a certification test after you complete the prerequisties!”

“Wait… certification for what?”

“To become a combat trainer! You’d only have to pick up shifts whenever you feel like it, and only teach classes you want to teach. I made an agreement with the owner and she’ll give you the details at your next class.”

Octavia, still stunned, looks around the gym one more time before pulling Bellamy into a huge hug.

“This totally beats last year… thanks Bell. I love you.” The Blakes don’t normally toss around those three words lightly, so Bellamy responds in the only way he could thing of.

“I love you too, O. You too.”

 

**_***_ **

The next morning, Clarke and Bellamy exit the fitness center after a training class. They spoke about Octavia’s gift and a bit more about the Dutchman case, but as Clarke and Bellamy are about to part ways, Clarke asks a question that’s been gnawing at her for the past hour.

“Did they make a decision?” she says gravely. Pulling a badge out of his pocket, Bellamy answers her question laughily.

“Figured if we didn’t, you’d end up making one of these on your own.” Clarke laughs with him and take the badge after wiping her hand on her yoga pants.

“I’m official.”

“You’re a consultant and I own you for four years. You okay with that?” Clarke nods along, looking over her badge again.

“Hey, I’m gonna be late for my flight, I have a meeting in DC. You’ll be here when I get back?” Bellamy asks hopefully, crossing his fingers that Clarke doesn’t try anything that could get her in trouble. Clarke smiles and starts making her way back to the Green’s house.

“Where else am I gonna go?”

 

**_The Green Residence_ **

After taking a shower and calling Bellamy to make sure he got on his flight alright, Clarke heads up to the roof for some of Hannah’s perfectly brewed Italian roast. She passes Monty on her way to the small table in the corner of the open penthouse. Clarke opens the newspaper she brought with her as she sits down. Inside are both parts of Finn’s photo. She runs a finger around one of the pictures edges and glances up to meet Monty’s eye.

“Call Jasper.”

Monty smiles, nods and makes his way downstairs as Clarke looks back down at the pictures. She looks over the cityscape of Manhattan with a determined smile.  _ A Griffin doesn’t give up. None of them do. _


End file.
